Jollof Rice Ghana Novels & Stories

OLIVIA I pulled open my pantry, scanning the contents with a chef's critical eye. "Okay, so I'm going to teach you how to make Jollof rice." Ryan looked at me blankly. "Jollof... what now?" "Jollof rice. It's a Nigerian dish." I started pulling out ingredients… rice, tomatoes, onions, peppers. "I tried it once from a recipe I found online and fell in love with it. It's flavorful, not too complicated, and if you mess it up, the Nigerian aunties on the internet will haunt you in your dreams."

David was only tailing behind us like he was our bodyguard. "What should we prepare?" I asked Maya "I recently learned about African jollof rice and I think I'll need to give it a try" she suggested "Which of the country in Africa because I heard each of them have their way of preparing jollof rice" I questioned "Let's start with Ghanaian jollof rice and grilled chicken. Gonna practice that of Nigeria later" she answered "You seem to know a lot about African food. Hope it will be delicious. I wouldn't like to eat what would make me want to purge at the end of the day" David said for the first time when we arrived at the store.

"Really, what is this?" "Now, that is called jollof rice. It's a force to be reckoned with in West African cuisine." Alethia widened her brows. "And you know how to make this, how?" "My mom taught the recipe to me. And believe me, it would taste better than this with the right ingredients." He said boastfully and tapped his spoon twice on the side of the plate, all the while he was smiling. Alethia was still confused, though there was no denying the joy her throat was feeling. The flavor of the rice kept downing with every saliva she swallowed, and it only made her crave more.

Claire whispered. "I thought I was the only one who felt that way; I am so hungry that I can eat someone." "I saw the new African restaurant on our way here. Do you want to go try it out?" I said. They nodded, and we stood up. With the guards behind us, we entered the restaurant and were given the menu. I saw jollof rice, and there were Nigerian, South African, and Ghanaian jollof rice, so we decided to order them all since we're three of us. Then I ordered suya and zobo while they ordered assorted meat and zobo.

I was still videoing all along. "Hey people that's Diva over there and she's preparing...What did she call it again?" I bit my lip thoughtfully. "Ah yes, she's preparing Nigerian Jollof rice for lunch. This will actually be my first time tasting it." I zoomed the lens so it could properly take in the steaming open pot of rice. She's almost done cooking.

Wu's voice came off as faint from outside the store. "Found it. Must everything about here be chinese?" I joked as i brought the basin of rice to the counter. "Excuse me? Asides the fact that I have a sixty nine year old ancient Chinese woman under my roof-" She said while the rest just chuckled, sitting around the table. "I'm making a Nigerian special which I learned from my mother, it's called jollof rice" Aal said as I looked to the ingredients. "Pretty sure I've seen that on a menu before" I said and she eye rolled.

When he got the food out of the balcony, it was getting cool and he just threw them into the microwave. "Basically, I made the rice using a technique and spices I got from India, and when you go to west Africa, they have a special way of making rice, called Fried rice. I used those two techniques together to get this and as for the black sauce, its a Ghanaian fish paste called Shito" "Shito?" I repeated "Yeah, they like to put a small portion of this in their food and it truly adds something. I learnt it from the nicest old woman in Ghana" He said, smiling at the memory.

Aisha's birthday party was alive in a way I hadn't expected-music pulsing through the loft, fairy lights strung across exposed brick, laughter cutting through the bass. Tables groaned under platters of jollof rice (spicy, smoky, nothing like anything I'd tasted before), grilled chicken with crisp edges and tender meat, puff-puff dusted with sugar, and bowls of peppered stew that made my eyes water just looking at them. Drinks flowed-cocktails in bright colors, palm wine in clay cups, bottles of chilled Hennessy passed hand to hand. Games broke out in corners: charades, a loud round of "Never Have I Ever" that had people shrieking and drinking.

Daisy says, as they place down another plates before us, I recognize this, Spagetti, but it's covered with other things. "This is Spagetti, not the one you are used to. This is Village Jollof Spagetti, made with Spagetti, meats, locust beans, vegetables, dried fish and of course palm oil. Careful, because this is extra spicy." "Okay." I smile at her, she leaves, and we stare at the food. I take the fork, and take a bite, eye widening at the spice. Fuck. I keep chewing, and it fades a little, giving way to the sweet sensation of fish, meat, crayfish and everything good.

These were the players in Ezekiel’s war, and she was now a piece on the board. Dinner was served: delicate plates of jollof rice infused with truffle oil, grilled prawns, and egusi soup reimagined as a modernist amuse-bouche. Amara barely touched her food, her stomach knotted with suspicion. Ezekiel’s warning echoed in her mind: *Don’t drink anything unless it comes from my hand.*